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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192189">Painting of a Saint</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_grumpy_kitty/pseuds/a_grumpy_kitty'>a_grumpy_kitty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1940s, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Religious Guilt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:48:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_grumpy_kitty/pseuds/a_grumpy_kitty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The soft light glowed around his head and suddenly Steve found himself with his heart in his throat. He reminded Steve of those stained glass windows at church. Bright and holy and so, so beautiful.</p><p>or:</p><p>a short little story about being in love, religious guilt, and matzo ball soup</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Painting of a Saint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dedicated to Lilia for forcing me to feel stevebucky emotions</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air outside was colder than a typical January in Brooklyn. There was a pink blush creeping high on Bucky's cheeks from where he sat against the window.<br/>
“I’m fuckin’ freezing.”<br/>
Steve hushed his friend and kept working. Bucky had bought him a new set of drawing pencils for Christmas, and for his first time using them, he thought it would be fitting to draw Bucky.<br/>
It was their first joint day off since the holidays so as soon as it was light outside, Steve dragged Bucky out of bed to model. His back was to the large bay window between their beds, sitting on the edge and smiling wide at Steve. The soft light glowed around his head and suddenly Steve found himself with his heart in his throat. He reminded Steve of those stained glass windows at church. Bright and holy and so, so beautiful. He knew he was starting but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. He could sit there and compare Bucky to saints all day. Something about that thought made Steve a little uneasy. Looking at Bucky had always come with the price of guilt, they were so intertwined by this point that they were now one and the same.<br/>
“You okay, Stevie?”<br/>
“Wha- Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m alright Buck. You know how the cold hurts my asthma and all that.” It was a half-ass excuse but Bucky knew that. He took a slow, deep breath and shoved whatever emotion that was threatening to spill out, right back down.<br/>
They were silent for a long time after that, only the sounds of their mingled breathing and the scratch of Steve's pencil as it danced across the paper.<br/>
It was around noon when Steve finally decided the portrait was finished.<br/>
“It's about damn time!” Bucky leaned over and snatched the sketchbook out of his friend's hands. Steve held his breath, searching for a reaction on Bucky’s face.<br/>
“Steve, this…”<br/>
“It’s not the best, I know but-”<br/>
“Steve. This is incredible.”<br/>
“Oh. I mean it’s-”<br/>
“Stop that. Stop trying to play it down. You’ve got something real special, kid.” Now it was Steve's turn to blush pink.<br/>
Bucky smiled big and a sick feeling settled in Steve's stomach at how much he liked it. He could draw Bucky's smile alone forever, tracing the curve of his lips over and over until it was all Steve knew anymore. It might as well be. If Steve was gonna go to hell anyway, he might as well go out with the shape of Bucky's cupids bow burned onto his fingertips. He was pulled back by the snap of fingers in his face.<br/>
“Earth to Steve! What’s goin’ on with you? You keep driftin’ off. You feelin’ ok?” A wrinkle formed in the center of Bucky's brow in concern, the way it always did when it came to Steve. How badly he wanted to reach out and smooth it away.<br/>
“I’m alright, honest. Just tired is all.”<br/>
Bucky hummed in response. “If you say so. How ‘bout you take a nap and I’ll cook something up for lunch?”<br/>
“Yeah alright. Thanks, Buck.” Bucky ruffled his hair on his way out of the bedroom and Steve let out a heavy breath. </p><p>_____________ </p><p> </p><p>Bucky thinks he should be used to this by now. Used to the hum of anxiety that settled beneath his skin whenever Steve looked at him, used to the sickening excitement that always came along with Steve’s smile. If he believed in God (he still isn’t quite sure he doesn’t), he thinks he’d be struck down right where he stood. He thinks maybe he should be anyways.<br/>
He began to chop the vegetables for lunch while trying his best to shake off feelings he refused to name. But then he turned his head to look into the living room and there was Steve. His body was tucked into himself, just on the edge of sleep and Bucky found himself wishing he was the artist instead. There was always something so serene in the way Steve slept that Bucky could never help but stare. He was the closest thing to an angel on earth, Bucky found himself thinking. He shook his head to himself and went back to chopping. His mother's matzo ball soup was always a favorite of Steve’s, so Bucky was doing his best to recreate it. Everything he did was to make Steve happy, he supposed.<br/>
As he cooked he couldn’t help but remember a passage the Rabbi had read in a Shabbat service when he was young. The story of David and Jonathan. He remembers the Rabbi describing the love Jonathan had for David, ‘The soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul’. Bucky had kept those words close to him, tucked away into a small corner of his mine but never really sure why. But now he watches Steve’s chest expand and deflate with each sleepy breath and he thinks he finally knows. He loved him more than his own soul. Something about that made Bucky’s stomach churn in guilt and anger and sadness and something else that he wasn’t quite ready to touch. Maybe one day he would.</p>
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